>Brotherly Love

“No!” my three-year-old daughter, Punky, shouts as a friend of mine smiles and coos at her five-month-old brother. She wedges herself between the baby and my friend. “He’s mine! He smiles on me!”

Everyone warned me that jealousy would rear its ugly head when baby Bruiser was born and Punky was relegated to big sister status. And it did, but not in the way I expected.

“Daddy, would you please pick my baby up?” she asks anxiously, running to her father the moment her brother makes a sound. “He’s so sad.” She clucks over him until he stops crying, sometimes dancing to make him smile, other times saying words she believes will comfort him like, “Bruiser, everybody loves you!” and one time, memorably, “Trust us, Bruiser! Why won’t you trust us?!”

“Mommy, here’s Bruiser’s firepass!” she shouts when he fusses, quickly rounding up the nearest pacifier and bringing it to me. She insists that he sit next to her in his bouncer while she watches her favorite show on TV. She hugs him and kisses his downy head at least fifty times a day. “He’s a good boy, isn’t he?” she says in a soft voice.

No, Punky isn’t jealous of Bruiser; she’s jealous of anyone else who tries to earn his affection. Because Punky’s convinced we had this baby just for her (thus explaining her desire for another one!).

And Bruiser seems to agree. When he smiled for the first time, it wasn’t his self-sacrificing mama who got that gummy grin; it was Punky. His sister inspires his loudest squawks and his most energetic kicks. She lies beside him in his play gym, pointing out its hanging toys while he stares in wonder and I watch, praying that what they’ve got going between them doesn’t disappear any time soon.

“He is my brudder,” Punky says solemnly to any stranger who stops to peer at Bruiser inside his carrier. She hovers like a mother bird, concerned the grown-up may try to touch him or worse, take him away.

“I’m sorry, he can’t talk yet,” she solemnly informed the cable guy a few days ago as he tickled Bruiser’s toes and asked him how he was doing.

Maybe Bruiser was born for Punky, after all. Certainly they’ll share secrets and experiences as they grow up together. They’ll argue and they’ll make up, they’ll play Monopoly and freeze tag. They’ll doubtless commiserate at times over what a mean and unfair mom I am. And later, I hope, after they’ve struck out on their own, they’ll vacation with each other’s families and share long, conspiratorial phone calls. They’ll celebrate each other’s milestones and grieve together as older family members die off.

This is where it starts, I think to myself, watching Punky gently put her cheek up against Bruiser’s and close her eyes. This is where that fierce love begins, the love that now inspires my 14 and 16-year-old stepdaughters to staunchly defend each other to any and all outsiders, even though they may fight bitterly between themselves. “I love Bruiser,” Punky says territorially, seeing me watch the two of them.

“I know, sweetie,” I respond, “and you know what?” She looks at me expectantly. “You always will.”

This post originally appeared on Parents.com.